Page 29 of Patio Lanterns (The Blue Canoe Cottage #1)

“That’s how it starts. You call them, and then they send over a high-pressure heavy. They try to control you with fear to get you to sign a contract. The next thing you know, there’s an eviction notice pinned to the door and a moving truck backing up to the cottage.”

Dove laughed. “Holy shit, Rob. Catastrophize much?”

Robin glanced up at the wall. “Look, I’ve gotta run, I still need to shower and change before work. Can one of you please keep an eye on Mutt Lange for me today?”

Lark wiggled a finger in her ear. “Did I hear correctly? You’re going to work? Where?”

“Over at Crawley’s,” she said, heading towards the stairs. “So please try not to sell the cottage before I get back.”

Within hours, Robin had managed to make a noticeable dent in the stock room.

She’d made a neat stack of old wooden crates outside, and once she put out a “Free Firewood” sign, people started helping themselves and carting them away.

Cardboard boxes had been emptied and flattened for the weekly recycling pickup, and already dozens of garbage bags had been filled and tossed in the dumpster.

Having worked up a sweat, Robin took ten with a microwaved bean burrito and a fizzy orange pop that Mrs. Crawley had given her at no charge.

“You’re doing a fine job, Robin,” she said, coming in to inspect the space. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Robin smiled, feeling rather proud of herself too. “Thanks, Mrs. C. Still plenty to do, but I think it’s moving in the right direction,” she said. “Now there’s enough room for a second chair back here, and look… you can almost see out of the window again.”

The old lady glanced away, then turned back with a little smile as she pulled out a chair for herself. “Well, keep it up.”

“Question for you. Have you ever thought of replacing that ancient cash register out there with a POS system? It would make your life so much easier.”

Mrs. C frowned. “POS?”

“It’s like a computer system at the point of sale, but it also links to everything—transactions, ordering, inventory levels, and that makes bookkeeping so much easier,” she said. “You could finally start taking electronic payments instead of just cash or credit.”

“Why would I need any of that nonsense? My system works just fine.”

“Your system is what’s been piling up back here and collecting dust since Lester B. Pearson was in office,” Robin said with a chuckle. “I use a mobile POS all the time with my job. It’s really not hard to learn. I could teach you.”

Mrs. C glared. “No, thank you.”

“Well, have you ever considered expanding? Because when I look around the store, I see lots of potential. You could bring in a selection of specialty foods. Gluten-free. Vegan. Halal. Maybe rearrange things a bit, fit in a few tables, and set up an ice cream bar. People would go nuts for dipped cones, sundaes, or milksh—”

Mrs. C continued staring like Robin was a freak of nature, appearing to be both dismayed and mildly amused.

“Only a thought,” Robin tittered, taking another bite of her burrito. She smiled awkwardly as she chewed while Mrs. C watched her curiously. “What?”

“You have a restless mind, child,” Mrs. C said.

“I sense that you are in need of some guidance.” She pulled a deck of playing cards from the pocket of her cardigan.

It was only when Robin focused more intently on the shuffling that she realized those were tarot cards leafing between Mrs. C’s hands .

Oh my God. She really is a witch.

“No, I am not a witch,” Mrs. C said sharply.

Robin gulped. “Huh? But how did you…?”

A grin smoothed out her wrinkly lips. “Now, close your eyes and think of a question. Anything. Something you would like answered today.”

Robin closed her eyes, but her mind was a jumble.

She wanted answers to a million questions.

Was her romance with Rick the real deal?

Would the Cherries get back together? Should they sell the cottage?

Was she going to pull off her mother’s celebration of life?

Would Lark ever get off her back, give Robin her inheritance, and start treating her like an adult?

Mrs. Crawley put the stack square in front of Robin and tapped it with an overgrown nail. “Cut the deck using your non-dominant hand.”

“Why?” she asked.

Mrs. C shook her head and sighed. “Must you question everything, child?”

Robin shrugged.

“Are you right-handed? Then use your left. It’s closer to your heart, and it’ll let the intuition come through.”

Doing exactly as she was told, Robin slowly lifted a portion of the cards off the top of the deck with her left hand.

Carefully, she turned it over and placed it down on the table.

The card on top was upside down and presented a strangely dressed fellow about to step off the edge of a cliff.

And his little dog was going to take the fall along with him.

“The Fool.” Mrs. Crawley exhaled deeply. “Oh dear, this is what I was afraid of.”

“Afraid of what?” Robin asked with trepidation. “What does it mean?”

“Be careful.”

A chill ran down her spine. “Okay, I’m definitely sensing a theme here. You’ve told me to be careful several times already, but I still don’t understand.”

“The Fool reversed brings a warning about being irresponsible,” the old lady advised. “Heed what it says. You must be more cautious in your decisions and careful in your relationships with others.”

“It says all that?” Robin examined the card closer. “Actually, that tracks. Most of my life, I’ve been criticized for not looking before I leap.”

Mrs. C’s forehead crinkled as she raised her wispy eyebrows. “What was your question when you cut the deck?”

“I don’t know. There was quite a few swirling around up there.”

“Pick one.” Mrs. C snapped like she was running out of patience. “The one about you and that Hunter fellow, perhaps?”

“How…? Oh, never mind.” Robin sighed. No point in trying to argue with a witch. “Okay, so maybe sometimes I still leap before looking. But Rick is great. Yeah, he’s older than people I usually date, and some might see our age difference as odd or even taboo, but I really don’t give a flying—”

Without saying a word, Mrs. Crawley tapped on the picture of the Fool perilously close to the edge of doom.

Robin slumped in her seat. “So, the spirit world thinks I’m a fool for wanting to be with Rick?”

“The card doesn’t mean you are a fool, child. Sometimes it appears at a turning point in your life. It’s a reminder to slow down and think things through. Consider the consequences.”

The consequences. It sounded ominous. What exactly were the consequences of being with Rick, Robin wondered. She already knew that his relationship with Aidan was at stake. But what about her? Did she really stand to lose more than she would gain?

Mrs. C restacked the deck of cards with care. “You must ask yourself, is this risk worthwhile, or am I being reckless?”

Geez, that doesn’t sound ominous at all, spirit world. Thanks a hell of a lot.

The bell at the register pinged.

“Don’t get up. Stay here, I’ll get it,” Robin told her. Still in a daze as she made her way out to the store, she thought she recognized the couple in line as longtime cottage neighbours, fellow lifers who had been friendly with her parents.

“Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope? Hi. I’m Robin. You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Marc and Micki’s youngest daughter.”

Mrs. Stanhope smiled in recognition. “Oh, Robin, of course. We remember all of you girls fondly. You work here now?”

“Only temporarily,” Robin told them.

“Thank you for the invitation to your mother’s celebration of life tomorrow,” Mr. Stanhope told her. “We’ll be there.”

Relief swept over Robin. “Wonderful, I’m happy to hear that.”

“We adored Micki. We wouldn’t miss it,” Mrs. Stanhope added. “In fact, we’re picking up a few things today, including ingredients for my famous potato salad to bring for the potluck.

How many are you expecting?”

“We’re hoping for at least a couple dozen or so,” she said.

Mrs. Stanhope looked puzzled. “That number seems rather small considering all the people around here who knew your folks.”

“Does it?” Robin gulped. Suddenly, she had a sinking feeling she’d grossly underestimated the number of guests who might attend this shindig.

“Your parents were pillars of this community for over thirty years,” Mr. Stanhope reminded her. “They were involved in the cottage association and were regulars at all the Lake Whippoorwill gatherings and get-togethers.”

Robin swallowed hard. “How many people do you think we should expect?”

They looked at each other. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “But if I were a betting man, I’d guess around a buck and a quarter? Maybe even a buck fifty?”

“A hundred and fifty people?” Robin’s jaw dropped.

“At least,” Mrs. Stanhope said. “Pretty much everyone we know is coming.”

Robin took a deep breath and shuddered as she exhaled. Oh my God. A hundred and fifty people? And that was probably a conservative guesstimate. She definitely needed to order more ice. More wine. More everything. Fuuuck.

“Just imagine who’d be coming if they hadn’t moved,” he said. “The Chans, the Tremblays…”

“The Macleans,” she added.

He looked at her, perplexed. “George and Linda sold their place?”

She nodded. “Yes, dear. In January, while they were still in Arizona.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m sure I told you. They received the same offer as the Chans and the Tremblays.”

“Eighteen and a half percent over appraisal?” Robin wondered. “We got a letter addressed to Mom about our cottage with the same number. So did the Koskies.”

“Are you considering it?” Mrs. Stanhope asked. “If you were, we wouldn’t blame you. But selfishly, it would be sad knowing that the Blue Canoe Cottage no longer belonged to the Pelletier family.”

“The end of an era,” her husband said.

“We haven’t decided what we’re going to do,” Robin said, finally ringing up the Stanhopes’ basket of items. It was so strange that so many neighbours had received the exact same offer. “By chance, did you also get a letter from Polaris North?”

Mrs. Stanhope shook her head. “No, dear, we didn’t.”

“Probably because they knew we’re not interested in selling for any amount,” Mr. Stanhope said firmly. “We reinvested in a top-to-bottom renovation over the past three years to keep our cottage in the family for another fifty, if not longer.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” It even took Robin by surprise how much she truly meant that.

She was relieved that the Stanhopes were committed to staying.

The place wouldn’t be the same without them or the other neighbours the Pelletiers knew.

Of course, they all had a right to sell.

Transitional ownership occurred. And it had always been wonderful to see a new generation of families falling in love with Lake Whippoorwill and carrying on the dock parties, backyard bonfires, and beach picnics.

But selling to a greedy developer who couldn’t care less about tradition or family? That was different. And if more people didn’t start standing up to Polaris North’s too-good-to-be-true offers and high-pressure sales tactics, their little community would get wiped off the map.

If she hadn’t been so flustered by Lark’s ambush, maybe Robin would’ve said all that and more to her sisters. She’d have to make time when she got home.

Robin rang up the purchases and the register drawer opened. “That’ll be fifty forty-six.”

Mrs. Stanhope gave her three twenties. “Well, it was nice bumping into you, Robin,” she said, as she was given her change. “We’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“See you then.” Robin forced out a smile, while an uneasy feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. And she had a hunch it wasn’t just the burrito.